American Fables
by royaltylaine
Summary: American Gods AU: After a dark and powerful curse is cast by one of his students, banishing the inhabitants of Fairytale Land to America, Rumple must help break the curse. In order to do that, he searches for 28 years to find the other savior, but unluckily for him (and her family who just wants to go home), she doesn't believe in fairytales or curses, and thus they remain trapped
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys. So I've been dying for a Rumbelle/ American Gods AU, so I decided to write it. No worries, even if you don't watch American Gods, you'll still be able to read it. Basically seasons 1 and 2 of Ouat, American God style.  
-RL

* * *

The gate buzzed as it opened and again as it closed. The light above the fence that surrounded the entryway to the prison flashed red like a siren. Emma assumed it was a warning. Incoming prisoner, outgoing parolee. That's what she was, a felon, a convict that had just served a 10-year stint in prison. She often thought while locked behind the thick bars of her cell that everything was going to be different, the outside world around her would keep changing as it always has, while she was cursed to remain the same, locked in a never changing box.

Seattle's weather was unyieldingly cold for this time of year. It was the end of August and the only wet stuff that should be on the ground, in the middle of summer, was rain, not snow. She had a half of mind to ask, but the guard who was walking her out of the gate didn't seem too perturbed by the packed snow crunching under his boots.

A man leaned languidly against his black Dodge Charger; he looked familiar. However, Emma didn't know this man. It struck her as odd. How could she know a stranger? It was like her senses were conveying two different people. Her feelings knew this man, but her eyes judgment perceived him as a stranger. It felt like déjà vu, and she didn't know which of her senses were true, which should she believe. The man wore a jean jacket above a jean shirt, and his pants were, you guessed it, jeans. Emma thought it was bizarre he wore sunglasses in the wintery overcast. But he did wear a scarf, though it looked like a handmade burlaps sack.

"Emma Swan." He said, not asking, but descriptively, as if he was reminding her who she was.

"The one and only."

He took off his sunglasses in one smooth sweep. "Are you sure?"

"I think so."

"My job just got a whole lot easier then. I'm Detective Weaver. Your probation officer." He said, extending out his left hand. The ring finger had a white opal stone clasped in a silver band.

Emma shook the man's hand skeptically. He seemed friendly enough but who's to say how long that friendliness would last, after all, he was a cop, and Emma was determined to stay out of prison this time.

Detective Weaver walked around and opened the passenger side door. Emma thanked the officer before entering and watched him through the car's rearview mirrors. He had a noticeable limp. After securing himself into the driver seat, he started the car.

"So, where are we going Detective?" Emma asked, watching the prison grow smaller as they pulled off.

"I'd thought we get something to eat first. Something other than prison food."

They drove down a long stretch of open road, it twisted and narrowed, soon becoming only a one lane road. Snow fell onto the window before being scraped away by the windshield wipers. After about 30 minutes of driving in silence, the detective pulled into a diner on the outskirts of the city.

They got out of the undercover car, and Emma placed her hands behind her back, thinking that the detective would prefer her bound at the wrists in case she thought running was a good idea. He eyed her amusingly with a smirk before walking into the diner and holding the door open for her.

Utterly confused, but refusing to ask why, Emma walked in. A hostess welcomed them and told them to pick any available table and have a seat. Together they did as they're told and found a quiet booth in the back of the diner.

The bubbly woman, who mentioned that she would be their waitress, was the same shade of blonde as Emma. She was young, maybe only a couple of years younger than Emma, and pretty. She wondered if she had of stayed out of the pen, would she have the same bubbly attitude as the blonde waitress. There was a time when she did. When she was still with her boyfriend, Emma could light up a room with her extroverted, upbeat personality thanks to him. It was a bittersweet memory. She was hoping to forget about him while in prison, but being locked up didn't provide her with new memories to replace the old ones.

The waitress took their drink orders. The Detective ordered a coffee, black. Emma chose hot chocolate with cream and cinnamon. It was her favorite, and the kind she got in prison was too watered-down and didn't taste like chocolate at all. She brought the drinks back quickly and stated she would give them a little more time to decide what they wanted to eat. Emma watched the detective pull a silver flask from his coat pocket and pour its contents into his coffee mug and stir it with a spoon.

Emma cleared her throat to get the officer's attention. "You know detective, that's illegal."

"Says who?" he said, tucking the flask back into his pocket.

"Well, it's against the law."

He made a tsk sound. "Laws are just stories. They tell us what we can do and what we can't. What to believe and what not to. They are no better than fairy tales."

"Fairytales? Aren't you an officer of the law, how can you even compare laws to fairytales? Laws are written knowledge. Everyone has to obey them."

"Tell me Miss Swan, were you obeying the law when you stole 100,000 dollars' worth of watches?"

"No, but I knew it was illegal."

"And yet that didn't stop you."

"We needed that money." She said, leaning in close.

"Ah, you and… Neal Cassidy, was it? Your boyfriend and accomplice in the crime."

Emma nodded and looked away.

"Has Mr. Cassidy been to see you while you were incarcerated?"

"So that's what this is about? You're trying to get me to tell you where Neal is." Emma sighed and scooted to the edge of her seat. "Like I told my lawyer and the countless of others, I have no idea where he is. And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"So I take it you're in love with Neal?" he asked.

Emma sighed. "I was, a long time ago. Not anymore. Not after he let me go to jail."

"Do you still need time to decide?" The waitress interrupted and refilled their drinks.

"I'll have the omelet." He said before looking over to Emma.

Emma picked her menu and glance at it. She was too busy talking to the detective that she completely forgot to read the menu. Everything on the laminated page looked good enough to eat, but it just felt so weird ordering a meal instead of being served slop three times a day.

"I'll just have oatmeal and toast."

"Don't be silly Miss Swan. You are a free woman." He said before showing the waitress an item on the menu. Emma watched the woman nod and scribble something on her pad.

"So I have one omelet and one Breakfast of the Champions. Got it." She smiled and took their menus. "I'll have that right out."

Emma remembered seeing that on the menu. It consisted of two huge pancakes, sausages, bacon, oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and one French toast loaded with fruit and tons of powdered sugar.

"I can't eat all of that."

"Why not? It's the Champion's Breakfast, and you need sustenance. You've got a lot of work ahead of you." The detective laid a vanilla colored folder on the table and opened it. "Let's start from the beginning, shall we?"

Emma nodded. "Fine."

"I've been reading over your case, and where it should contain an address, it reads: not applicable. So let's begin with where you're from?"

Emma shrugged. "Hell if I know."

"Allow me to rephrase the question, where did you live when you were younger?"

"New York, Phoenix, Boston, Seattle. Take your pick detective."

"Hmmm." He hummed tentatively.

"I lived in the system." She said, bluntly.

"And what about when you were with Neal?"

"No place for too long." She admitted. "We were drifters."

"Were?" he asked, baiting her.

"We were supposed to build a life together in Tallahassee. We – well _I_ -thought he wanted to start a family."

Weaver snorted, snapping Emma out of her daydream of things that could have been. "And you two chose God forsaken Florida out of all places to settle down."

"What? No. _It_ chose us." Emma explained. "That's why we took those watches."

"So, you broke the law because you believed it would give you a better life?"

Emma nodded. The waitress came back with their food. It was piping hot, Emma could still see the plumes of smoke billowing from the plates as the waitress placed it in front of her. Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled. It was her first real meal in ten years, and when she took her first bite, it felt like she hadn't eaten anything in the last two decades. The several bites after were just as good as the first, and Emma failed to notice that the detective was watching her.

"So, what about fairytales?" He asked.

Emma had just finished off the scrambled eggs and bacon. "What?

"You know, fairytales. Fables, bedtime stories, the noble princess, and her charming prince-"

"Alright already," Emma said. His ramblings were so distracting. "I knew what you meant, but what about them?"

"Do you believe in them?"

"In fairytales? Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears?" She asked, and he nodded yes. "No, of course not."

The detective furrowed his brow. "Why not?"

"Because they're not real." Emma shrugged, cutting into the last bit of French toast. "They're just stories that people made up to tell their children."

"Did you believe in them when you were a child?"

"Probably once. I did have a foster brother who use to read me fairytales when I was younger. He left too, and so did my belief in fairytales." Emma told him. He ended up running away from their foster home when he was thirteen, Emma was only eight. After he left, their foster parents decided that they didn't want to be troubled with kids anymore, and Emma was sent back into the system.

The detective smiled. "How would you like to go home Miss Swan?"

Emma stopped eating, frustrated that she couldn't enjoy her meal without his patronizing questioning. "Didn't you just hear me. I have nowhere to go. Neal was my home, and he's gone too."

"Don't be so sure about that." He said. "Allow me to explain the terms of your probation."

"I'm listening." Emma said, dismissively.

"You'll be accompanying me to the town of Storybrooke. There, we will find you a place to stay and a part-time job. During this time, you will report to me every morning. No exceptions. I will give you information on where you will go to do your part-time community service. After you completed the task, you will report back to me. If you do everything right, you're free to leave, or stay, whichever you choose."

Emma's chewing slowed. She swallowed the lump of food all while looking and listening to the detective suspiciously. She'd never heard of a probation officer taking an ex-prisoner out of their jurisdiction. She always thought they were supposed to give her a cup every month to make sure she wasn't involved with drugs, at least that was what some of the women convicts used to tell her. But who was she to correct an officer of the law.

"Storybrooke?"

"Maine." The detective said.

"Maine!" Emma exclaimed, grabbing some of the diner's patrons attention with her outburst. This time, she tries whispering. "I can't go to Maine."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have somewhere else to be?" He asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"No, but it's… _Maine_."

"Indeed." He said with a wide roguish grin. "It's your choice, Miss Swan. Either come with me to Maine, or go back to prison."

Emma gave it a thought, but it was an easy decision. "Maine, it is then."

"Excellent." He said, tossing a hundred-dollar bill onto the table. "Let's get you home then. Everyone's been waiting to meet you."

 _Home?_ Emma wasn't sure what the detective was talking about, and something inside of her reminded her not to trust him, regardless of him being an officer or not. Maybe she should have asked to see his badge before agreeing to go with him to this, Storybrooke Maine.


	2. Chapter 2

Driving through state after state, each time it felt like she was committing a crime all over again. When she was on the inside, the women use to tell her that once she was on probation, she wouldn't be able to leave Seattle. They called it Fleeing and Eluding. Her only consolation was that she was with her probation officer, but then again, she wasn't entirely sure that was who he was.

She felt a chill run through her body when their car passed the sign that read Welcome to Storybrooke. At first, she read the sign wrong and thought it spelled Storybook. As they entered the town, pedestrians and cars began to speckle the roads and sidewalks. The townspeople walked in and out of the shops that lined the city's main street. Emma noticed it was small, quaint, and all the residents they passed by seemed very friendly toward each other. Nothing surrounded the town, no freeways or bypasses; it was like someone took a city and placed it in the middle of a wooded forest.

"So, this is Storybrooke?" Emma asked.

"Charming, isn't it?"

"I guess. Feels like I've been tossed back to the 80's."

"What a dreadful decade." He said. "The fashion was atrocious, and the music was terrible. Synthesize voices and instruments, just like the world, damn posers."

Emma didn't say anything. Instead, she noticed that the detective's opal ring had changed in colors. It was now purple.

"So, you're married?"

"For many years, and after this long troublesome journey of ours, I miss her dearly." He said, sounding a bit crestfallen. "That is where our first stop will be. I'm sure she has some tea brewed."

xox0xox

They pulled into the driveway of a pink house with green trimming. Emma had never seen a house so big in person, only in movies. It had three levels, complete with a porch and balcony located on the second floor. How can he afford a place like this on a cop's salary, Emma thought inwardly as they were getting out of the car.

A woman with fair skin and long auburn hair opened the door with a baby in her arms as they ascended the steps of the detective's home. She was stunning, and very young, and this couldn't be the man's wife. Perhaps she was their maid.

"Belle." He said, hugging the woman and kissing her. It made Emma look away. "Sweetheart, you don't know just how much I missed you."

"I was so worried about you Rumple. When I woke this morning, you weren't there." She said. That made Emma recalled what the detective said while entering the town. He said it'd been years since he'd seen her, but his wife couldn't have merely slept through all those years, especially when she had an infant son to care for. Maybe she misunderstood them both.

"You knew I had a job to do sweetheart, but I wanted so desperately to get back to you, and Gideon."

"He's been fussy these past few days, I think he knew you would be returning-" Belle said before noticing Emma. "uh- Rumple. Who's this?"

She looked up, happy that the face-eating had ended. "Hey, I'm Emma."

"So you're-" Belle began, and her husband nodded.

"The parolee," Emma answered.

"I see, well come in, please. I have fresh tea in the kitchen. Just make yourself comfortable. I'll go put Gideon to bed."

They followed Belle into their home. The house was so spacious, too spacious for just the two of them and a baby, but it was a lovely home nonetheless. As she sauntered behind the detective, Emma noticed that his limp wasn't as prominent as it was before, and his gait was more straighten.

"Your wife seems nice," Emma said.

"She's a jewel."

Emma looked around the room at all the priceless items the couple had in their home. "So, is this where I'll be staying?"

"Heavens no, I have a son to protect. I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink with a thief in the house." He said.

"Hey man, I told you why I had to steal those watches." She said, objectively.

"And yet, that doesn't excuse the crime."

This man had to be the biggest asshole Emma has ever met. Where did he get off calling her a thief? She rode two days with him across six states to the middle of nowhere Maine, and not once had she even thought about stealing from him.

"Gods Rumple, what are you wearing?"

"You don't like it?"

"No," Belle said, rubbing the material between her thumb and forefinger. "It's bloody awful."

The detective pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. "Not to worry dear, you can undress me later."

"Is that so?" She asked, pressing a kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back, needier. "Quite."

"Sooner than you think if you keep that up," Belle said, softly.

Emma cleared her throat. Enough already. The detective's wife was sweet, and Emma could tell they really _really_ missed each other, but she couldn't bear another moment of their excessive snogging.

"Mrs. Weaver, you said something about tea." Emma felt so weird calling Belle Misses, especially when she looked younger than Emma was.

"What did she call me?" Belle asked her husband, and he chuckled and shrugged. "It's Mrs. Gold."

"I'm sorry. I didn't-, I assumed you two shared the same last name."

"We do. He's Mr. Gold." She said, looking at Emma curiously before getting up from her husband's lap and flatting down her skirt. "I probably should pour your tea, Emma. You must be exhausted."

"Umm- yes, thank you Mrs. Gold."

"Just Belle is fine." She said, pouring the black tea into blue and white teacups.

"Belle. Oh, like Beauty and the Beast." She said.

Belle smiled at her husband. "I suppose he can be a bit beastly at times."

Emma's probation officer was becoming more untrustworthy. She could have sworn he said his name was Weaver. It was even the name he told the hotel when they charged his card while they were traveling to Maine. She had no idea what to believe.

Emma leaned into him and whispered. "I thought you said your name was Weaver."

"Miss Swan, you will soon find out that I have many, many names."

At this point, all of this, the whole thing, since she left the prison nothing made any sense. She had a feeling it was all thanks to the man sitting across from her. But who the hell was he?

"Who are you really, Detective Weaver. Or is it Mr. Gold?" Emma asked.

He grinned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

After tea, dusk was rolling across the horizon, and the sky began turning a deeper blue. It was getting late, and the detective told Emma she had a strict curfew she had to adhere to during her probation period. He kissed his wife warmly on the cheek before reminding her that he would return shortly. He whispered something in her ear that made her eyes widen and her cheeks turn crimson as she bit her bottom lip. She told him to hurry back, and he promised he would.

"Let's get you home, Miss Swan." The detective said, opening her door for her.

"And where is home?" She asked, with air quotations around the word _home_. "A halfway house?"

"We have none of the sorts in Storybrooke. You'll be staying with David and Mary Margaret Nolan. They've been looking forward to meeting you for a while now." He explained.

xox0xox

It was a small condo complex they arrived to. They got out, and the detective pulled her suitcase from the trunk of his car. It only contained a few items of necessity they picked up while traveling from Seattle. A toothbrush, underwear, things like that, since Emma wasn't given the luxury of taking anything with her from the prison. He knocked on a door located on the second floor of the complex and received no answer. He knocked again, then jiggled the knob to see if it was open by chance.

"Do you like magic, Miss Swan?" He asked her.

Emma shrugged and smiled. "I guess about as much as I like fairytales."

"Maybe one day you'll learn to appreciate both." The detective waved his hand over the door, and Emma heard the lock unlatch. "One day."

"Okay, how the hell did you-"

"Hello?" A woman's voice said. It was whimsical, not normally how a person would sound if someone just broke into their home. Emma saw a man step from around the door and stood next to her, who Emma could only guess was his wife and that they were David and Mary- Margaret. "Rumple? We didn't know you were back already."

"What are you doing here Gold?" The man asked.

"Oh, you know, just granting wishes. Allow me to present, Emma." He said, moving aside to show them the woman who looked baffled.

The couple only stood there, blankly and unmoving, just staring at her without saying a word. The woman looked on the verge of tears as she studied Emma's face. The man had a gleam in his eyes and wore the proudest smile Emma's ever seen.

"Emma." The woman murmured, pulling her into her condo and into her bosom. The man hugged them both tightly. "You came back. Oh, just look at you."

"You're so beautiful." David chuckled, half sobbing.

This was getting too weird. They hugged her as if Emma was their long-lost child or something, which wasn't possible. The man and woman were practically the same age as her. And then there was the big glaring fact that she didn't know these people. This place was growing stranger and stranger the longer she stayed in this town.

Emma pulled back from the hug. "Thank you, but I have this thing with personal space. It's a prison thing."

"Wait, so you don't -?" The woman asked.

"No, she doesn't." Gold interjected. "Can I speak with you two for a moment?"

The detective pulled the couple into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

"What the hell, Gold? You said she would remember us." David said enraged, but also trying to keep his voice down.

"She will. I have to get her to believe first." Gold answered.

Mary- Margaret gasped. "So, she knows nothing of our world, of her world?"

"I'm easing her into it." Gold explained. "I'm not trying to drive the poor girl insane."

"You bastard," David said, roughly grabbing the lapels of Gold's jean jacket. "What kind of cruel joke are you trying to play? She has no idea who she is, or _what_ she is. What were you thinking bringing her here?"

"Well, Prince Mouthbreather," He chastised, snatching David's hands away. "I was thinking that returning your daughter to you was a good idea, and that you would be more appreciative than this."

"David calm down, both of you." Mary- Margaret said. "All that matters is Emma's back, so... thank you, Rumple."

David sighed, letting his anger subside. "You're lucky we're family, Gold."

"Noted," Gold asked, straightening out the wrinkles the thick-headed man made in his jacket. "Look, can we finish up here. I brought your daughter home, and I want very much to get back home to my wife."

They opened the door to find Emma handling and carefully examining a vase. She placed it down quickly when she saw the owners. "I wasn't going to steal it."

"Of course you weren't Emma," David said smiling.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. She's a parolee after all." Gold said. That got him glares from all of them. He then looked at his wristwatch. "Anyways, I should be going. I have some long overdue rekindling with my wife. Remember Emma. You must report to my house in the morning for your community service." He said before leaving.

Now it was just the three of them. Alone together. Emma felt their eyes on her, picking her apart like vultures. What was with them? They acted as if they never seen an ex-prisoner before. Evidently, she couldn't be the first parolee they let into their home. They didn't seem scared of her, or feared that she would steal from them. If they did, they would have stashed all their valuables before she'd arrived. Maybe they were just happy to have a guest or something, and hopefully, all the sappy hugging and heart eyes would stop.

"Emma. Can we start again?" The woman asked, and Emma nodded yes. "I'm your- I mean, I'm Mary Margaret, and this is my husband, David. We're so sorry about how we acted before. We were just so happy you're-you-"

"Got here safely." David finished with a nice save, allowing his wife to recuperate herself. "You're a long way from Seattle, sweetheart."

"Ok, if this is where I'm going to be staying, you two have got to stop acting so weird." Emma explained. "And lose the pet names. No sweetheart, no baby, or honey. You seem like nice people, but it's weird. "

"Sure Emma. We will call you whatever you want." David said, smiling warmly at her.

Emma grimaced. "And you have to stop that too."

"Stop what Emma?" Mary- Margaret asked motherly.

"Being so lovey, and you don't have to stare at me so much, it's creepy," Emma said, picking up her suitcase. "Now, can you show me where I'll be sleeping."

That night, Emma had the worst time trying to go to sleep. Too many unexplained things ran through her mind. She could have sworn the detective had a limp, but he was walking perfectly fine ever since they arrived in town. Perhaps it was the weather. Storybrooke was warmer than Seattle, and maybe the detective suffered from stiff joints. But that didn't explain why he had an infant son when he'd told Emma it had been years since he'd seen his wife. Did he not father this child? What about him opening the door without a key, was he some sort of magician, and he used sleight of hand or some illusion to unlock the door? Who was this man, and why was everyone calling him Gold, was he even a detective? And what about these people she had to live with, why did they act as if they knew her. Going on about how beautiful she was, like a tearful reunion. The only thing she did know, was that this town and its people were fucking with her, and Emma hated being fucked with.


End file.
